


Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns

by DisasterSoundtrack



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, Fueled by Ramen
Genre: Angst, M/M, Peterick, gabilliam - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2014-09-17
Packaged: 2018-02-17 18:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2319875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisasterSoundtrack/pseuds/DisasterSoundtrack
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pete's day job consists of texting Patrick a lot and smothering people with feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns

**Author's Note:**

> I was trying very hard to give them justice, but I'm not sure how well it came out.  
> I just hope you're going to love this as much as I loved writing it!

When Patrick texts him, Pete is not ready for this.

_Ok so we broke up, what do I do now?_

Pete wants to facepalm and do a little dance simultaneously. This is going to be very difficult.

_You go on with whatever you were doin before dude. You fine with me comin over in 15?_

_I'm very fine, bring wine or sth_

Pete is trying hard to put himself together, to keep calm, keep fucking calm. He can't stop thinking about how this is the first time since they met when they're both single. This is a bad time to smother Patrick with his feelings, he reminds himself. Patrick is going through a break – up, there are some boundaries and Pete will try to remain inside them.

But this is kind of Pete's thing, smothering people with his feelings, he's been told multiple times by multiple people. This is what Ashlee told him when she drew up divorce papers for them. _You smothered me, get it? You smothered me with your big stupid smile and with always being up in my face and with your stupid music and with your 'less publicity', you always wanted more more more and fucking more, and I just – I suffocated, okay? I have no idea how anyone is going to ever put up with you, Wentz._

The very last thing Pete wants to do now is to smother Patrick, just because he loves Patrick so much, has always loved him and Patrick just broke up with Ellie. They have been together for eight goddamn years, almost their entire adult life, and it's no wonder poor guy has no idea what to do with himself now. She has been his life for so long, until she started becoming somebody else's life too and Patrick didn't notice how his life was only his own again.

Pete was not ready for this. When Patrick first told him they are probably going to break up, he didn't believe it would actually come to that. Couples like them don't just call it quits because they hit a rough patch. _But this is different_ , Patrick was saying. _We've burned out. I never thought this was a real thing, but apparently it is._

Except Pete was waiting for this moment for motherfucking years and if he doesn't control himself now, he will burst through Patrick's door and smother him: with hugs, kisses, Iloveyou's and who knows what else. And he can't do that to Patrick, fucking Patrick, who was best man at his wedding and his best friend forever, so good at everything Pete was epically bad at. He can't smother Patrick. He has to keep it together, for him.

Pete is so in his head he forgets the wine.

'I forgot the wine', he says, when the gate closes behind his car and he sees Patrick approaching him in the driveway with a disturbing expression on his face.  
  
"Fuck the wine", mutters Patrick and hooks an arm around Pete's waist so fast Pete doesn't notice the split seconds before he's pressed flush to Patrick's chest, hot breath of the other man all over his face, their foreheads touching, their fucking _lips_ touching. Patrick's tongue pushes expertly between Pete's teeth, his hands cradling his face suddenly, like he's fragile.  
  
Pete stumbles back a step or two. His back rests against the cold metal of his car. He tries to draw Patrick even closer, but that's hardly possible. The moan Pete has been hiding deep inside his chest for years finds its release straight into Patrick's mouth.  
  
"What the fuck, Stump", he mutters between hungry, devouring kisses, laughing, but Patrick won't say anything. He's kissing Pete like he's making a promise to himself, or maybe the world.  
  
Pete takes off Patrick's fedora and holds it in his hand, messing Patrick's hair with the other. He searches for the taste of alcohol on Patrick's tongue, but there's nothing.  
  
It lasts for centuries or maybe two seconds. The sky turns black then white, then black again. Pete's faked carefullness he came here with loses its mind.  
  
Patrick pulls away.  
  
"Patrick..."  
  
"No, you're not allowed to talk about this. Not a word", says Patrick, his voice shaking a little, and the steel of his eyes doesn't match his kiss – bitten lips or flushed cheeks. "Come on. We're going to drink my scotch and talk about what one does after a break – up."  
  
"But..."  
  
"No. Not a word, okay?"  
  
And Pete agrees, because he loves Patrick so much, has always loved him and if this is what Patrick needs, he'll do anything.

He's going to fuck this up so bad.

He tries to hold Patrick's hand while they're walking up the driveway and into Patrick's house, but Patrick shakes it off. He shows Pete the couch, insisting for him to sit there, while he himself goes to the kitchen to make them drinks. After he brings two glasses of scotch and puts an entire bottle down at the table, he sits in the chair meters away from Pete and just starts talking. They drink and Patrick talks. Pete tries to drink slowly, it's hard for him to keep up with Patrick when it comes to scotch, and fuck, he needs his mind sharp tonight. His eyes are already hard to keep from closing.  
  
Patrick doesn't seem to notice Pete is drinking much less than he is, or he doesn't care. He starts swaying dangerously in his chair after an hour and a half.  
  
"I don't know what to, what to do with all this shit in my life right now, you know? I don't want to do anything."  
  
Patrick's voice breaks and he almost falls from his chair headfirst to the carpeted floor. Pete stands up so fast he almost has a headrush. He grabs Patrick below his arms and half – drags him upstairs, to his bedroom. He takes off his friend's hat, his glasses, then shoes and jeans. Taking off the shirt would be too difficult, so he just wraps Patrick in a blanket while Patrick mutters incoherently, silent sobs running uncontrolled from his mouth. When Patrick is all wrapped up, Pete wraps himself around him, kisses his forehead, caressing his hair, his face, wanting to cry but keeping it in. Just a little while longer, he tells himself. Just a little while.  
Patrick will hate himself a great deal in the morning. It already hurts Pete to even think about it.  
  
"Wentz." In some last desperate attempt before the sleep of the drunk and miserable finally claims him, Patrick grabs the front of Pete's shirt and pulls his friend close. 'Wentz. Kiss me.'  
  
Oh dear, oh no.  
  
"No, you're drunk."  
  
"Not so much, you know." Patrick looks at Pete with watery eyes through the darkness and Pete feels like he was born hours ago, but wants to die already.  
  
"You're going to regret all of this."  
  
"S'not your problem, dude." Patrick pulls Pete even closer and Pete gives in, he gives in to the way their mouths move against each other and for how long he's been having wet dreams about it, but the circumstances were always different. But in the life of him, the circumstances are never right for anything.  
  
"Wentz, you little slut."  
  
Pete pulls away and Patrick's eyes are closed. He doesn't open them, just releases the front of Pete's shirt and his head falls to the pillow.  
  
This is so fucked up. Pete practically runs to the downstairs bathroom, turing the lights on in a hurry, bends over the toilet and violently vomits not only all the scotch, but also his dinner and probably the remnants of his breakfast. His eyes fill out with tears and the back of his throat burns like the end of the world. He kneels on the cold floor, letting the solid feel of it drench his entire body.  
  
He lets himself cry. Nobody is looking, so he holds tight onto the sink, which is also cold, and cries for long minutes. The takes a few deep, jagged breaths. The warmth of his breaths fogs Patrick's mirror. Everything in Patrick's house smells like Patrick.  
  
He is a teenager, in love for the first time all over again, first realizing that this feeling, which was supposed to be beautiful, is actually awful and sickening, making his stomach heavy and his head light.  
  
Pete washes his face, mouthwashes the awful taste from his mouth and turns Patrick's TV on, volume down.  
  
The only way out of this is through.

***

Patrick spends three days in bed afterwards. He minimizes the amount of words he has to say to Pete only to ask him to cancel all of his stuff for the week. Pete does what he's asked for, because that's just Pete. Andy and Joe come over, worried, but Patrick stays in his bedroom and yells _I'm okay guys, I'll be okay in days, just go away, all of you,_ but Pete never goes. He brings Patrick takeout and tea. Patrick eats some of it, but leaves the rest and tells Pete, _just fuck off, okay, dude? Give me two more days and I'll be fine.  
_  
But this is bullshit. Patrick doesn't shave for three days and just lies in bed, no computer, no book, no phone, just staring at the ceiling or pretending to sleep. Pete can't ignore how much this reminds him of his depression from years ago, how it all started with _I'm just so tired I want to sleep for a thousand years_ and _leave me alone, I just want to lie here by myself.  
_  
What Pete forgets is how Patrick is much stronger and mentally stable than he'll ever be. So when he falls asleep on Patrick's couch for a fourth night in a row, he's surprised to be woken up by Patrick a few hours later, Patrick smelling like soap and shampoo, freshly shaved, poking him in the shoulder.  
  
"Hey Pete, move a little, won't you?"  
  
Pete mumbles something incoherently because _fuck you man, I was asleep and you know how I rarely sleep well,_ but this is Patrick and even though Patrick makes him feel sick to his stomach, he moves, letting his friend sit on the couch next to him.  
  
"Sorry for waking you. I can't sleep for any longer, I just had to do something, anything."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Sorry for being such a bitch, while you were just doing your thing, I guess."  
  
"And what would my thing be?", asks Pete, even though he's afraid of the answer.  
  
"Being the best friend I could ever ask for."  
  
"Don't mention it". Patrick reaches out and they hug, and he can hear his friend sighing with relief.  
  
Pete kisses Patrick on the cheek, gingerly, and then drags his mouth along the soft expanse of porcelain skin of Patrick's cheekbone, to his lips, reddish grey in the dark of the night.  
  
Patrick freezes, but he's still warm and somehow Pete feels like _this_ is the moment all the books and movies are about. This is the moment. Maybe. So he has to make sure.  
  
Pete moves his lips against Patrick's, slowly, but surely. Patrick makes an effort, but it falls flat and he pulls back half a second later, shaking his head.  
  
"Fuck, dude. Sorrysorrysorry", rambles Pete, the idea of a moment standing in the corner and laughing at him.  
  
Patrick keeps shaking his head, but he smiles a little bit, too.  
  
"No, come on, that's okay. Do you want coffee? I know I want coffee."  
  
Pete doesn't really want coffee, he wants Patrick, but he agrees to the coffee anyway.

***

Pete can't be mother hen forever, he has his stuff to do, mostly Decaydance stuff and he sees Bronx over the weekend. He might feel like a teenager when he sees Patrick, he might even act like one but he'll never be one again.  
  
It's a shame, really. Maybe if he was a teenager his feelings would have an explanation. Now he's just this guy in his early thirties, falling apart for a kid he met 12 years ago.  
  
When they met for the first time, he felt it. He saw the softness of Patrick's ways, the bright sunshine of his eyes, heard the hollow of his voice and Pete's knees bent, he lost support.  
  
_I am standing in front of my other half and I'm sure he'll think I'm a jerk.  
_  
A part of Pete was dying, hungry from want, and he knew he had to shut it off if he wanted to be friends with Patrick Stump. You win some, you lose some, right?  
  
And he won a lot. He was best friends with this tallented, beautiful person. He could see him every day, he could smell his hair, sleep in his old shirts and hug him after shows. He could write his lyrics and Patrick would bring them to life, not even realizing that some are about him, for him, only for him.  
  
But Pete wouldn't dare to make a move. He wouldn't dare to ruin Patrick's happy life with Ellie. He would steal him kisses on stage, sure, he'd slap his ass playfully, he'd ruffle his hair and watch Patrick turn mad and then laugh helplessly. He would eat the soup Patrick brough him when Pete was sick for a week last month, even if Pete wasn't really sick, just very, very sad.  
  


To: p.wentz@decaydance.us  
From: patrickvaughnstump@yahoo.com

_Pete,_

_some things are easier to write than say, so here it goes.  
_  
_Thank you for taking care of me when I snapped. I honestly have no idea what happened, that was a first for me. And the last, I hope.  
_  
_Sorry for the thing. You know, in the driveway. I have no idea about that either and I probably never will. I felt strangely existential. Thanks for going along with it, though you didn't have to.  
_  
_See you in the studio today._

_Patrick_

Oh, Patrick. So wonderfully oblivious.

*** 

Fall Out Boy goes to LA to guest star on William Beckett's solo album. They make a fun trip of it – Andy brings a camera and records everything that's going on. They behave like a young band going on their first big tour. They take pictures they post on Instagram, they tweet every hour, they hit tourist spots and it's awesome because they are genuinely having fun. Their recent reunion sure made the fans happy, but it might have made the guys even happier. There are things to achieve and nothing is going to stop them now.  
  
They go on a ferris wheel at Santa Monica Pier, Andy and Joe in the cart together, in the middle of a very heated musical argument, Patrick and Pete hopping in right behind them.  
  
"So isn't this trip great? I honestly can't remember the last time we had so much fun together." Patrick is smiling, beaming almost, and he looks straight into Pete's eyes when he speaks and the wheel lifts them higher and higher.  
  
"Yeah, it's great. Come on, let's Instagram this." Pete takes out his phone and Patrick snuggles close, his new thin body still a little unfamiliar, and looks up for the picture. It turns out okay and Pete wants to post it right away, but he notices Patrick hasn't moved an inch and is still very close to him, even though there is some free room on Patrick's left. Pete breathes very slowly, accomodating to this new sensation, and admires the view, because they are on top of the wheel now.  
  
The city, gigantic and bright, hugging them from one side. The ocean, equally gigantic and dark, sweeping everything else from the other side. Pete squeezes Patrick's hand, as an experiment. Patrick lays his head on Pete's shoulder and squeezes back, his fingers interlacing with Pete's.  
  
Pete has to decide between saying _okay_ , which would mean nothing, and _I love you, you stupid beautiful jerk,_ which would mean too much.  
  
So he settles for nothing instead.

***

Instagram

 **petewentz:** on top of the world with the most adorable **@patrickstump** <3 #LA #fobfuntrip  
  
(A picture of Pete, hood up, and Patrick, in a black fedora, both smiling, close to each other, on top of a ferris wheel in Los Angeles, just before dusk, city lights in the distance.)

 **hurleyxvx: @jtrohman** doesnt appreciate my opinion on blessthefall #whatever #fobfuntrip #LA  
  
(A picture of Joe, fake mad face, on top of the same ferris wheel.)

*** 

They party with William until it's almost day and Pete realises his eyes are closing. For some reason there's very little alcohol, maybe two bottles of vodka and a lot of Red Bull, also a lot of reminescing the old times, shouting, hugging and doing silly things, recordings of which will go on Youtube later, Pete will make sure of that.  
  
They say their goodbyes to Will and take a cab to the hotel, Joe dozing off with his head in Andy's lap, Patrick in the front seat, Pete leaning his forehead against the cold window of the car.  
  
Andy helps Joe to his room. Pete stands awkwardly in the corridor with Patrick, wanting to say anything, wishing he knew what to say.  
  
"Pete? Did I leave my card in your room?"  
  
Pete sighs with immense relief.  
  
"Yeah. You left all your stuff there, remember?"  
  
"Oh right! Let's go grab it."  
  
It's fucking five in the morning. They enter Pete's room and Patrick grabs his bag, wants to head out.  
  
"Stay, Patrick. Fucking stay, okay?"  
  
It's barely more audible than a whisper, but Patrick's hearing is great. He turns on his heels, carefully puts the bag down, and approaches Pete, thoughtfully, as if counting every step.  
  
Patrick is here. Patrick is staying. Pete puts his hands on his arms, feeling the soft thread of his sweater. Patrick seems unable to look him in the face.  
  
"Will you finally _do something_ , Wentz, because if you won't, I sw – "  
  
Pete decides to finally free Patrick out of this misery. He kisses him so entusiastically he knocks off his hat in the process. Pulling off Patrick's midnight blue sweater, pulling on his lower lip, he wants Patrick to be right here, right there, everywhere, just like this, more, more, moremoremore...  
  
Patrick pushes him a little and they tumble into the hotel bed, too fluffy and too big, too white.  
  
Pete doesn't want to stop, he doesn't want to hit the brakes never ever again, when Patrick's sure hands wander below his shirt, his skin burning, his lips living a happy life of their own out of his control completely.  
  
This is Patrick, Patrick, his other half in life and the sun that saved him from the darkness. He's being pathethic, but as long as it's just in his head, it's okay. So this is the moment he was thinking about earlier, this is their moment.  
  
But now, it's time to be in his body more than in his head. It's probably the best time to be in his body ever.  
  
Patrick shifts his weight, supporting himself on his elbows just above Pete and breaks the kiss with a loud smack he doesn't look the least bit ashamed of.  
  
"Does that", starts Pete, though his voice is a little hard to manage now, "does that count as something in your book, Patrick?"  
  
There's that vicious certainty in Patrick's eyes that Pete adores and is a little afraid of. He feels honored, almost, to be the reason behind this certainty.  
  
"Something", murmurs Patrick. "But now quite enough, mister."  
  
The teenager inside Pete doesn't want to vomit anymore. He wants to dive deeper and deeper in this lukewarm water catching rays of sun with his bare hands, even though it's hardly even morning and the hotel room is still dark. Patrick stands up and takes off his sweater, his t – shirt, his shoes and socks. Then he hesitates, looking at Pete sprawled on the white sheets and big pillows, and takes his jeans off too. Pete doesn't even try to pretend he doesn't notice Patrick's erection.  
  
He only has enough time to free himself from his hoodie before Patrick is right there, all over him again, his delicate hair nuzzling his face, lips impatiently finding his. Patrick helps Pete take off the Metallica t – shirt. Their naked torsos press together, leaving no room to breathe or move or doubt.  
  
"Please ruin the world with me today."  
  
Patrick's breath shakes a little, coming out against Pete's cheek. "Anything, Pete. Anything you want."  
  
"Okay, because you know what I want the most? I want you. Everywhere, everywhere, all the time. Patrick PatrickPatrick."  
  
Pete reaches into Patrick's boxers and Patrick doesn't say no, doesn't say yes, doesn't say anything.

So after Pete has swallowed every last drop of Patrick, when the salty, a bit bitter taste lingers on his lips and at the back of his throat, when he lets Patrick move his wrist up and down and up and down again and melts under the touch, reaches heaven and then hell, when the lights at the back of his mind combust, then he wants to scream a lithany of endearments and promises and empty confessions.  
  
Instead, he just falls heavily on Patrick's chest and immediately feels his friend's fingers playing with his hair, then a kiss to the temple.  
  
"You're still not allowed to talk about it", says Patrick, but jokingly, and Pete laughs helplessly.  
  
"Dude, I forgot how tired sex makes me", Pete breathes out, even though he knows what happened is not even close to what he wants to do to Patrick, or what he would let Patrick do to him.  
  
"I'll let you sleep." Patrick gets up and dresses quickly, not even bothering lacing his shoes or fixing his messy hair.  
  
Pete gets it, he gets how everything that happened was way out of Patrick's comfort zone. He gets how Patrick has to sleep alone with his own thoughts.  
  
Meanwhile, Pete's thoughts fill the entire room. They're trying to escape through the window, even though it's closed.  
  
"See you tomorrow." Patrick hesitates, like he wants to bend over and kiss Pete goodbye, but he decides against it and leaves, sending Pete a wink when he's at the door, lit up by the glow from the corridor.

Pete is not going to sleep, not tonight, not ever, probably. Every time he closes his eyes, there's Patrick. Patrick asking him to do something. Patrick biting his collarbone. Patrick murmuring Pete's name when he came in his mouth.  
  
He lasts for 15 minutes before he texts.

_What the hell man did that just happen or was that a dream I cant sleep I dont want to w/out you_

Patrick replies after what seems like hours, when it's actually three minutes.

_I know, right? Its ok you can come over here if you need it, just stay calm okay? Promise me_

_How do you calm I dont know but ill try promise_

_Goodnight Pete, xxx_

Pete falls asleep, alone with a dark void of Patrick's memory in his arms, two hours before he has to get up. He tweets some bullshit about sleep deprivation and being homebound again, packs his stuff and watches Patrick's shy smile when they wait for a cab to the airport.

*** 

They work on the new album in a frenzy for long days that turn into late evenings and into chilly nights, but it's going to be great, monumental even, Pete tells himself as he drinks his last coffee at 9 PM on a Friday evening and drives home through the wind and fallen leaves, barely seeing anything.  
  
He tells himself this has to work out somehow when he closes the door behind him, the air of his house a little stale, and his phone buzzes in his pocket.  
  
It's Patrick.

_Have some time after we wrap things up on Monday? Wanna tell you sth. Have fun with Bronx over the weekend xxx_

_Thx, sure I do, whats the matter dude_

_Picking things up where we left them in LA._

Pete keeps staring at the screen. He checks once, twice, fifteen times and the words are still there, typed by Patrick, sent by Patrick.  
  
They didn't really have time for any continuation of the LA happenings. They fell headfirst into giving the final touches to the album and it was almost ready to go into production. The whole promotional shit was still ahead of them, much less fun than touring, but also less exhausting. So they were working so hard they came to the studio in the mornings and went to sleep right after, Patrick disappearing so fast Pete started to doubt LA actually happened. And if it did happen, it might have been a one time event, born out of frustration and who knows what else.  
  
Pete would probably fall apart if that was true. He'd finish the album, he'd do the promotion, he'd do the tour, everything in close proximity to Patrick, slowly falling apart, to just crumble completely after everything is over and it's time to move on to a next project.  
  
He tries to fall asleep, he really does. He is alone with dirty thoughts again, hating himself and loving Patrick, waiting for the ceiling to fall and smash his head.  
  
His phone buzzes again. Pete hopes for a second for a text from Patrick, inviting him over now and not having him wait three fucking days, but the message is from Gabe Saporta.

_Listening to Bill's new song and remembering how great he was in bed. I miss him so much sometimes._

Gabe, in a commited relationship with a beautiful fashion designer, nostalgic over a fuck buddy from years ago. Maybe Pete was right suspecting there was much more than just sex between the two of them.

_Go and get him back if you want to dude_

_I don't even want to, you know? We both have lives now. This is just a crazy thing I still miss him, I should have told him when it was still time._

Pete feels as if he's been hit in the face. Gabe should have told William before they moved on. Maybe Gabe missed a once–in–a–lifetime opportunity. Pete should tell Patrick now, he shouldn't even wait the goddamned three days.

_Patrick Patrcik man Patrick you are my motehrfucking soulmate do you know that_

He doesn't notice how it's 3 AM and Patrick is probably fast asleep and won't read the message until morning. He's surprised to get a reply a minute later.

_I know, fucking go to sleep_

So Pete fucking goes. He goes to the bathroom, throws up everything he ate today and then sleeps like a little kid.

***

Pete sits in Patrick's car, drowning in the familiarity of everything, from Patrick's dashboard and the way his porcelain hands hold the steering wheel, to Pierce The Veil album in Patrick's car stereo, Vic Fuentes going really high about the sky under the sea.  
  
"Where are we going?", he asks.  
  
Patrick gives him a short look through his sunglasses. "I didn't really think this through. Is my house okay?"  
  
_Everything is okay if you're there, come on, you know that, you must know that.  
_  
"Sure, yeah."  
  
They talk about the new album, they've been talking about the album for months now and there's still so much left to say.  
  
They reach Patrick's house and order vegetarian Chinese for dinner. Pete watches Patrick's mouth, its perky shade of red and remembers kissing this mouth, remembers its softness and eagerness. Pete wants to kiss it again, so he surprises Patrick while the other man is pouring water into glasses, and Patrick spills some water over his kitchen counter, trying to get a hold on Pete. The afternoon sun is seeping through the windows, making Patrick's hair a fiery shade of orange, while Pete smoothes his back and draws him closer, closer, always closer, thinking about how Patrick's milky thighs looked like against white sheets of a hotel bed.  
  
"I wrote _G.I.N.A.S.F.S._ for you", says Pete after they break the kiss to gasp for some more air.  
  
"What?" There's that little self – depreciating laugh, Patrick's trademark.  
  
"For you, about you, you name it. I did. I thought you'll figure it out."  
  
Patrick steps away from Pete, staring at his bandmate, arms over his head, taking a deep breath. "So you wrote me a love song in 2007, while you were with Ashlee."  
  
Pete nods slowly. He just hopes Patrick is not mad.

"And why the hell didn't you tell me earlier?"  
  
"You were in a relationship, you were happy, you were my bandmate and my best friend. All I had was... I just had these words at the back of my head, I had to let them out somehow, you know? So I wrote this."  
  
"Pete..."  
  
"Let me finish, okay? You were the one who picked me up after I tried to end myself, you were always here, you were... Patrick. I wrote many songs for you. I'll keep doing this probably forever. I'm so sorry."  
  
Patrick looks like he wants to cry, but he laughs instead. He walks back close to Pete by the kitchen counter and takes him by both hands.  
  
"What are you sorry for, stupid? I'm sorry it took me so long to realize that I'm fucking in love with you."  
  
Pete is positive this is a dream. He has so many things to say, so many things to say to Patrick that when he opens his mouth, absolutely nothing comes out.  
  
So maybe this is the weirdest nightmare he ever had, because it would hurt so much to wake up from it. Patrick holds his hand over Pete's mouth.  
  
"You're not going to break down on me now, right? I don't want you to say anything else. I wanna take you to bed. Okay?"  
  
Pete nods.

Pete whispers _I love you_ into the chill air of the night, before he realizes Patrick is already asleep.

***

_Dearest Patrick,_

_I met my soulmate in 2000, between red plastic cups, guitar riffs and plaid shirts. I knew I met my other half within an instant, but I was so terrified you will think I am a jerk I behaved like a jerk.  
_  
_Why you are still my friend is beyond me. Why you saved me, is beyond me as well. You saved me from the darkness with your light. You shared so many beautiful adventures with me.  
_  
_You are going to laugh when you read this, because I am so pathetic, but I don't care. I love when you laugh. I love you.  
_  
_I am so lucky I met my soulmate. I have been thinking that every day since we met.  
_  
_I want to give you all the love in the world. Please, show me how.  
_  
_Pete_

  
"Wentz, you awake? What you writing?"  
  
Pete hides the letter under the pillow. That's for later. "Morning, Patrick."  
  
"G'mornin'", mumbles Patrick, twisting in his bed, throwing his arms around Pete who spent an entire night in this bed with Patrick, going over the wonders of them finally being together, over and over in his head. Pete just lies there, content, breathing in the sweet smell of Patrick's neck and hair, his hands making pointless circles on Patrick's hips.  
  
Patrick is still sleepy, murmuring like a satisfied kitten, leaning into Pete's touch.  
  
"How weird is this?," Patrick asks.  
  
"Pretty eerie, I agree. But somehow feels so natural."  
  
"Yeah.:  
  
Pete could feed on this smile. He'd eat it for breakfast and be full for the day, but still miss its taste every waking hour.  
  
"Make out with me, Wentz. You're so damn good at it", Patrick whispers into Pete's ear and the molten content of Pete's tortured soul spills out, spills out, spills out, and drowns both of them in the golden light of the morning.


End file.
